Tifa's Excellent Adventure
by s'C'urvy 'K'at
Summary: A sequel of sorts to Tifa's Bogus Journey.  After AC, Tifa has a bone or two to pick with overdone plotlines.  So, once again dragging along her 'sidekicks', she strikes out anew on another anticliche vendetta.  But look out for those 'Sephiroth guys' !
1. The Introductory Chapter!

'Ello, 'ello. What's all this, then? Sure, I stopped writing Tifa's Bogus Journey like, two years ago. But Advent Children and its cliché awfulness gave me reason to come back to the concept, and dust off two old favorites (and by favorites, I mean those obnoxious tag-alongs from Tifa's Bogus Journey). If you haven't read TBG, no real worries. Maybe just check out the first chapter or two to brush up on who 'Greg' and 'Jim-Jam' are. And if you have an exceptional memory, you may notice some lines from TBG popping up within the descriptions of the 'Sephiroth guys' (since they kind of struck me as that unstoppably badass villain type).

Nothing much this chapter, just getting the gang all together again, and laying some groundwork. The true stupidity will begin next chapter.

* * *

The room was almost completely pitch-black, two people sitting forlornly at the bar in adjacent stools. They weren't doing much, simply staring at the neatly lined rows of bottles along the back wall in complete silence.

They'd been there some time. Never eating, never sleeping, simply….. _waiting._

"You think she's _ever _coming back?" The one on the left, a man, asked despondently, elbows propped up on the counter, resting his chin in his hands. His hair was long and unkempt, looking more like a mullet than it ever had before.

"Doubt it." His companion mumbled bitterly. "It's been two years now. She probably got tired of us, dumped us off here and ran. I don't think she even liked us. Just put up with us so she could live out her personal vendetta fantasy."

"Really?" He asked, sounding surprised "Two years? Seems like it was only a chapter or so ago that we were still having an adventure." He blinked slowly, staring at himself in the mirror that reflected the room in its entirety, giving the small area an illusion of being far more spacious than it was. His green eyes had since lost their ephemeral glow. Well, it had never been ephemeral before since it normally had a constant, almost agonizing-to-look-directly-at sort of sheen, but I suppose it was ephemeral now, since they didn't really glow anymore.

Though, big words like 'ephemeral' make the writing seem more high-minded and sophisticated. Not like any readers will take pause, bust out an online Thesaurus and call me on the fact that the adjective being used doesn't actually mean what I think it means.

Ethereal.

The word we were going for was ethereal. But whatever. Like anyone would be all like 'Hey! You used ephemeral, when the word you wanted was ethereal. Use a vocabulary within your grasp, jackass!'

"It's like time flows differently here." The woman next to him agreed, running a hand across her clean-shaven scalp, fingers bumping over the staples holding areas of split skin and bone together. Her head wound should have been completely healed by then. Her hair should have begun to grow back, should have reached a manageable length in the time they had been there. But not even a single hair had grown back. There were some rather odd black and pink (no longer could she refer to it as sable-streaked lilac) patterns along her scalp from when her head had been shaved, but that was the most of it.

They weren't cool anymore. Had no reason to be. Nobody, no protagonists, for them to handily upstage, and assert their badassery upon. It was if their appearances had responded to their new sense of self-awareness and despair. They didn't even look ridiculous-powerful anymore. Hardly even looked ridiculous. The looked sad and defeated.

Gods, they looked….. weak.

Normal.

"God, I _believed_ her when she said she'd be back." He nearly sobbed, pounding his fist on the bartop, a blow which, normally, would have cleaved the wood cleanly in two. But now, the liquid in the bottles lined up beneath it barely sloshed against the glass. "I….. I trusted her. I _liked_ her. How could I have been so _blind_?!"

"It's not your fault. You were created to be this way. Obsessed with her, blindly following her every move, not questioning her as long as you got to stay close. I'm no different. I _hate_ her. Always have. And for what reason? None. No reason at all, I just _hate_ her. I take one look at her, and I want to just….. _crush_ her." She shrugged indifferently, seeming to have come to terms with her lot in her rather tremulous existence.

Tenuous. Her _tenuous_ existence. It's questionable, not unsteady. God, how hard is it to find a Thesaurus, for serious?! How hard is it?! Seriously, how hard _is_ it to take five minutes to stop, type in the word you want to use, and then take the biggest, fanciest synonym for it that you find and pop it into your story?

Er….. all tangents aside, the two morose lurkers were finding their erstwhile freedom of choice beginning to dwindle away; slip through their fingers. He was becoming more and more obsessed, and she was once again beginning to hate the subject of their conversation for no reason.

"What should we do, then? Just go back? Back to the base, back to our story?" She continued, hands falling in into her lap helplessly.

"What _base_?!" He half shouted, turning toward her, grasping her chin roughly so they were eye to eye "What _story_?! We don't _exist_, don't you get it?! We aren't supposed to _exist_! We never had a _real _story! We were just a pastiche of two original characters, with ridiculous false back-stories created for the sole purpose of attempted humor! We're not _really_ villains! We were created only to make fun of actual 'attempts-to-make-an-unstoppably-badass villain' villains! My God, don't you _see_?! She _left_ us, and we have no reason to be written about anymore! That's it! We're gone, completely wiped out of any kind of existence!"

They stared at each other, the silence dragging out almost painfully, his eyes wide and almost wild in his anger, hers baleful and shocked, as the information of their paradoxical existence started to sink in. Finally, she spoke, picking her words carefully, as not to further incite her already ruffled comrade.

"But….. if we don't exist anymore, what are we _doing_?"

He had no reply, eyes narrowed as he struggled to come to grasps with her question. But, before he could formulate any sort of far-reaching speculation, the door was suddenly thrown inwards, knocked from its hinges in an ungodly burst of strength. A bright dazzling light radiated from the threshold, silhouetting the figure standing there.

Their heads turned slowly, in almost perfect unison, toward the figure, mouths open to speak, but not finding the words.

_She_ had returned.

"Why's it so dark in here?" The almost heavenly figure asked lightly, reaching out, palm flat to the wall, feeling for the light switch. Finally, her hand brushed across it, instantly illuminating the room, despite the fact that the power had been shut off not long after she had left two years ago, citing some 'important matters'.

_She_ looked different. Shorter hair, a more conservative, badass outfit, a decently-proportioned chest (no longer was _she_ flat as a board like _she_ had been after removing those horribly over-sized inserts when this had all first began).

They stared, awe-struck, as if seeing some sort of saintly miracle occurring. But _she_ just breezed into the room, leaving the swirling limbo of the undefined space outside the bar, smiling at them disarmingly, hands out and supine (or, y'know 'palms up' before the thesaurus change), like some matronly goddess.

"Hey-" _Her_ greeting was cut off by the clatter of the bar stools being forcefully abandoned and knocked to the floor, the loud, hurried scuffle of shoes on heavy wood flooring. They lunged at _her_, catching _her_ around the upper arms and waist in a nearly-crippling grip, but there was no malice in it. No longer would they try to beat _her_ into squealing submission and throw her into a burlap sack.

"We thought you were _never_ coming back, Tifa! We….. we thought you'd forgotten about us!" The woman nearly sobbed, face buried against the martial artist's chest, breathing in heaving, relieved gasps, a thin thread of spittle trailing from the corner of her mouth onto the leather vest Tifa now wore.

"What took you so long?" The man asked from where he was latched around her waist, staring up at her questioningly, his dull eyes blazing back to life with a renewed, re-energized 'glow-in-the-freaking-dark'-ness. It almost hurt Tifa to look directly at them.

She just smiled, laying her hands on them soothingly, giving them a moment before she tried to disentangle herself. They were reluctant to let her go, as if they feared she would leave again, leave them in an existential state of non-being.

"Well….." She started thoughtfully, making her way to one of the tables in the center of the room, motioning for them to follow. She pulled a chair out and sat down, propping her elbows up on the table, resting her chin against her palms. "Oh, let's see if you can figure it out."

"Okay, shoot. Was it something cool and super-important?" The woman asked, grinning wolfishly, her elongated, filed-to-a-razor-point teeth gleaming in the light. It was almost magic, the way Tifa's presence had revitalized their eradicated morale; rejuvenated their ridiculously overhauled powers and 'awesome' (AKA 'ridiculous if you actually stopped for a second and thought about it') appearance. She was starting to feel badass again. And her leather outfit no longer chafed incessantly as it had when Tifa had left them alone.

"Um….." She paused, nose wrinkling up a little as she thought of how to field that question. "Okay, so, basically, here's the run-down. It was two years after Meteor, I was living with Cloud and some kids in the rebuilt city by the ruins of Midgar, where I worked as a bartender, and being all 'Oh, why won't you love me Cloud?', and _he_ was all like 'Oh Aerith, I loved you sooooooooo much, I suck because I let you die. Oh, I'm so _angsty_!'. And there was this mysterious disease killing people, and then there was all this hub-bub about Jenova, and there were these three guys with completely _retarded_ names that were avatars of Sephiroth, and if they got Jenova's head they would _be_ Sephiroth.

"And then Cloud gets a call from the Turks, and Rufus was alive and shit, and he was all 'Oh hey, I'm not dead, I have the Turks, and there's a new threat to the world _let's have a fuckin' team-up_'. And Cloud was all 'No. Aerith's dead. Boo hoo. I suck.' And I was all mopey, and I fought one of those Sephiroth guys after I found out Cloud was living in Aerith's abandoned church, and dying from that mysterious sickness. I totally kicked that Sephiroth guy's ass with all these super-human martial arts moves, but then he cheated, and then Cloud had to come rescue my unconscious ass.

"_Then_, his mysterious illness flared up, and after we woke up, and Reno and Rude helped us (probably because I owned a freakin' bar), Cloud went off to the Forgotten City to fight the Sephiroth guys, and had visions of Aerith. He got outmatched by the Sephiroth guys because they were far, far too powerful (even for the people that saved the Planet and beat the guy they were parts of), only to be rescued by Vincent, who was all being a bitter, broken-hearted man, and living all alone and shit. So then Cloud comes back to the city outside of the ruins of Midgar with a renewed resolve to save the day, two of the Sephiroth guys show that they're totally _bad news_ by beating up on Reno and Rude, then everybody showed up for the big boss fight, and, needless to say, Barret and Nanaki got very little screen time.

Her two companions were sitting there, taking in the whole retelling of her adventure, becoming more and more disenchanted by every unenthusiastic run-on sentence that spilled out of her mouth.

"And _**then**_ the one Sephiroth guys _**turned into Sephiroth**_ and Cloud fought him one-on-one for a sense of closure and forgiveness, Barret did some funky jive-talk, Vincent seemed to know exactly every-fucking-thing happening in the plot thus far, and then Sepiroth was all 'I'm going to make you angst even more. You suck.' And Cloud got all like 'Nuh-uh. _You_ suck. My angst and my severe necrophilia will see me through.' And he won, but then the two other Sephiroth guys blew him up, and he was probably going to die, but then Aerith and Zack convinced him that life was worth living, and that it was okay to stop blaming himself and angsting over their deaths (even though it was _totally_ his fault), and he was all 'Surprise, I'm okay, and maybe a tad less angsty now. I still probably won't love you Tifa!'. And then Nanaki said his one line of dialogue, the mysterious sickness was cured and everything turned out a-okay."

It was dead silent, the two of them staring at Tifa in disbelief, almost unable to comprehend the astronomical load of _crap_ she had just spewed at them. They looked at one another, the woman motioning slightly at herself and her companion questioningly, silently pointing out the similarities between these 'Sephiroth guys' Tifa had spoken of, and their prior super badassery.

Finally, she rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

"Tch. Fanfic."

"Fanfic." The man echoed, rubbing at his swingin' soul patch while he ruminated over the _ridiculous _story line. "God, that sounds as bad as the set-up _we _got. Pff. You'd think the guy would come up with something more original than 'Oh no! The return of Sephiroth! In the form of three guys! Who can only be defeated by a one-on-one fight with Cloud!'."

Tifa flashed a tired, lopsided smile at them and shook her head, as if amused by their naivety.

"Oh, if only, if only." She sighed airily, causing the two of them to snap their attention to her, eyes widening in terror.

"_What_?!" The woman nearly shrieked, flinching back, as if struck. "If it wasn't a fanfic, then what the _Hell_ was it?!"

Tifa dropped her gaze almost guiltily, shaking her head.

"It was a movie." She murmured dejectedly. "God help me, it was a _movie_. A goddamn _canonical_ sequel to the videogame. And then after that I made a guest appearance in a videogame about Vincent….. as if fans needed anything _else_ to furiously masturbate over. Aaaaaaaand I also popped up in Kingdom Hearts II. Of course, I didn't do _anything_ except for obsessively run around a town trying to find Cloud. _Fucking_ A guys, my life doesn't revolve completely around Cloud!

Before they could come up with some kind of response, offer her any sort of condolences, she pinched at the bridge of her nose tiredly, shaking her head.

"And….. I've got _kids_ now. Jesus Christ, they gave me _kids_, because apparently I'm some kind of Lady Madonna and taking in all these orphans, like I'm trying to build some sort of fucking pseudo-family with Cloud, in hopes he won't leave. _How_ am I supposed to kick ass like _this_?! And all these _stories,_ I….. it's always the same premise. I can't, I….. can't _stand_ it."

"Oh Christ…..it's starting all over again."

"It never stopped!" She half-shouted back at him, shaking her head. "The situation might have changed, but it's the same. It's all the same old, same old.

She took a deep, steadying breath, before looking across the table at them, looking tired, nearly defeated.

"I tried to get back here sooner, but my schedule….." She shook it off, waving the thought away brashly "Look….. 'Greg', 'Jim-Jam', I need you guys. I _need_ you-"

"Say no more!" 'Greg' nodded eagerly, his enthusiasm directly after hearing Tifa say she 'needed' them almost unbearably creepy. But no matter how obsessed with her he had been created to be, he would be sure to keep things strangely platonic, trying to assert his independence from his formerly static persona.

"We'll help you! We'll come with you and fuck up any sort of storyline you're tired of!" 'Jim-Jam' agreed, reaching across the table and taking Tifa's left hand in both of her own. "I mean….. if you still want _both_ of us around, that is. I mean, I was always kind of _too_ obnoxious, you know?"

Tifa smiled wanly, heartened by their desire to help her. After how poorly she had treated them at times out of her innate disgust for those 'nigh unstoppable OCs', it cheered her to see that they would still agree to aid her.

"This is a _sequel_, 'Jim-Jam', you can be _different_ now. You can be cool without trying to show everyone that you're some kind of uber-badass that can't be killed until the fifth-to-last chapter. And we can totally pretend that evil Tifa storyline _never happened_."

"Uber-badasses, huh?" A smooth, almost feminine voice echoed from the doorway, interrupting the reunion of our protagonist and her loyal sidekicks, causing them to look toward the doorway, seeing two men with silver hair standing there, clad completely in black leather, their green, cat-like eyes glowing in the lighting.

Uh-oh….. looks like these guys are totally _bad news_.

They stared down 'Greg' and Jim-Jam', before glancing at one another, smirking.

"They don't look so tough." The other one noted, brow furrowed in disappointment. He straightened up, all business-like and looked at Tifa, eyes narrowed. "We somehow didn't die when we blew ourselves up to try and kill Cloud! And now we're back for revenge, or trying to live life and find forgiveness, or….. something else." He explained hastily, rolling his eyes, before smiling ferally at her, eyes glinting. "Now that _that's_ out of the way, wanna play?"

"Oh, _fuck_ this." Tifa sighed tiredly, dropping her face into her hands, letting out a low moan of frustration. "Five minutes. I try to take _five_ _minutes_ away from this shit, and _this_ has to happen?! Jesus Christ, let me sit down for a bit. Let me take a piss. Let me have a moment to myself without two fucking Sephiroth avatars busting into my bar being all 'Surprise! Not dead!...somehow'. God, why did I have to break the door down in my hasty return? That door is supposed to keep assholes like you out of here! I don't have time for this! It's been like….. forever since I've been able to go to the bathroom. Stories _never_ involve me using the toilet, and my back teeth are fucking _floating_ here."

"Come on, play with me." The one intruder prodded, taking a few long, menacing steps toward her, his effeminate looking companion shadowing his approach.

"Back off! The lady _said_ she has to use the bathroom!" 'Greg' butted in, pushing himself up out of his chair, shoving it back. His god-like strength sent it flying backward into the wall, where it shattered into a million tiny splinters.

The Sephiroth guy paused, letting out a small chuff of laughter at 'Greg''s willingness to fight; to defend Tifa from the two mysterious villains.

"Fine," he shrugged, turning his attention away from Tifa, meeting 'Greg''s glow-in-the-freaking-dark eyes with his own piercing, slightly glowing stare. "Then _you_ play with me."

"Christ, can you say anything else?" 'Jim-Jam' cut in, rolling her eyes. "Is this going to be a poorly-written fight scene, or a poorly-written orgy? Oh, play with me, play with me, _play with me_!" She mocked, tossing her head back and faking a breathy gasp.

The Sephiroth guy glanced at her, stern façade crumbling away, and he hastily turned, hiding his face from them, pouting.

"Are you crying, brother?" The femmy-looking Sephiroth guy asked, laying a hand on the more masculine-looking one's shoulder.

"I am _not_ crying!" He protested, turning on his heels, blinking harshly to try and back up his lie.

Watching the exchange, 'Greg' and 'Jim-Jam' traded glances, before looking over at Tifa for some kind of indication of what they were dealing with. The martial artist however, still had one hand to her face, palm of her other hand slapping furiously against her brow frustratedly, as if trying to block the whole thing from her memory.

"Shut _up_!" She finally shouted. "I know you guys didn't have a lot of goddamn dialogue, but for _fuck_'s sake, you can say more than just 'Wanna play?' you don't have to break down in tears all the time, and if you two say one _word_ about that decapitated head, or your 'brother' or anything of the sort I swear to God, I'll hand out a gratuitous one-sided ass stomping."

The two Sephiroth guys looked at each other uneasily, not sure of what to make of her loud, defiant nature. This wasn't the same Tifa that they had interacted with for all of five minutes. She wasn't trying to defend any children, not trying to convince their 'brother' of anything. She was just _pissed_.

"Look here….." Femmy started up, hands on his narrow, boyish hips. He flicked his hair back with a slight toss of his head, slit-pupils dilating. "We are simply looking for brother, and if you-"

There was a low snarl from the direction of Tifa's table, and the wood suddenly ignited into a blaze of blue-white flames, courtesy of the loss of 'Jim-Jam''s patience.

"What did she just say?!" The original character half shouted, eyes narrowing. Had her original, lilac cat-eyes not been gouged out and replaced by normal ones, her stare would have matched that of Femmy's. She glanced at Tifa, who was still leaning dejectedly against the flaming tabletop, looking like she wished this would all just stop, her legs crossed tightly. "Go to the bathroom and take a load off. By the time you get back, we'll have this all taken care of."

"You sure?" Tifa asked, peering through her spread fingers at the other woman, who just nodded eagerly, and stood up from her chair. "I mean….. I don't know if people really want to read about an OC vs. Sephiroth avatar fight."

"Well, fuck 'em! You want a fight, or do you want to take them in and see that they reform?" 'Greg' asked hotly from his position between Tifa and the Sephiroth guys. "Just put a good fight song on the jukebox, and take a well-deserved piss. 'Jim-Jam' and I are crazy powerful!"

"But I don't have a ju….." Tifa started to protest, trailing off as 'Greg' simply snapped his fingers, causing a jukebox to materialize out of absolutely fucking nowhere.

Ah ha! Another one of 'Greg''s ill-defined powers revealed.

Jukebox-out-of-fucking-nowhere.

"Okay, fine." Tifa finally relented, pushing herself away from the burning table, patting out a few flames that had snaked up onto her forearm. She made her way over to the jukebox and hastily pressed a few buttons, before hurrying into the back of the bar, presumably to the nearest bathroom, leaving 'Greg' and 'Jim-Jam' to their hurly-burly.

"So, you want Femmy or Manly?" 'Jim-Jam' asked, sizing the two intruders up, lip curled back, obviously not impressed by what she saw.

"Well, Manly looks like a martial-arts type. You _always_ have to have martial-arts types punching the Hell out of each other." 'Greg' replied, cracking his toes, ready to give them one of his trademark barefoot-beatings.

And as the opening strains of 'She Blinded Me With Science' began to blare from the jukebox, our dear, dear OCs rushed toward the two Sephiroth guys, ready to show them who ruled the hierarchy of unstoppable villains with retarded names.

End One.

* * *

'Greg' and 'Jim-Jam' going up against Femmy (Yazoo) and Manly (Loz) next chapter. And Tifa gets out of the bathroom. 


	2. Gratuitous Over The Top Fight!

Alright, since it's been a bit since I wrote TBG, guess it's time for the disclaimer. This is pretty much a parody. Not making fun of any author, just trends (which I admit, I have fallen victim to myself). This chapter might not seem too in the FF7 cliches, but if you think about those fight scenes against OC badguys, where the protagonists can't seem to win until... wait a second! They're miraculously making a comeback! Then yeah, you'll see what I'm getting at.

And if you want to be all serious and write a complaint, I enjoy good grammar and my pen name being spelled correctly. And if you like it, I'll keep writing, not stop after a while, then pop up with a sequel out of nowhere.

* * *

_It's poetry in motion_

_When she turned her eyes to me_

'Greg' had to admit, there was always just _something_ about music heavily-laden with synthesizers that just _really_ got him going. He and 'Jim-Jam' were standing shoulder-to-shoulder, her in four-inch stilettos, himself barefoot. He almost looked out of place in this impending brawl, pristine white duster and slacks, while everyone else was throat-to-foot decked out in shiny black leather. Well, he knew 'Jim-Jam''s outfit was leather. These Sephiroth guys probably could only afford _pleather_.

Goddamn poseurs.

Femmy was looking at them warily, not sure what to make of them.

"Who are you? All of brother's friends came to help him when we tried to find our mother, and _you_ weren't there."

"We're not your brother's friends!" 'Greg' shot back fiercely.

You can do better than that! Throw a mocking name or an insult in there!

"We're not you brother's friends, babycakes!" 'Greg' shot back fiercely.

'Greg', no! That's not a woman!

"We're not your brother's friends, dumpus!" 'Greg' shot back fiercely.

Wait, wait…..'dumpus'? Oh, c'mon, work with me here. We're trying to maintain the idea that everybody should think you're super-cool and handsomely handsome. Would someone like _Vincent_ ever use the term 'dumpus?

"We're not your brother's friends….. er….." 'Greg' trailed off fiercely.

Bravo. Braaaaaaaaaaaaavo.

"We're mysterious villains with stupid names, out for revenge on AVALANCHE for some reason or another!" 'Jim-Jam' explained, scowling. "And we were here _first_, so get lost. You already copied our super-dramatic entrance from the last story!"

"Story?" Manly asked, confused, looking toward Femmy, who shrugged his shoulders, equally lost.

"Seems like you guys come back from the dead an awful lot, if what Tifa said holds any salt. But you guys getting your asses kicked by us is new and exciting! Hoo-ah!" She shot back, lunging toward Femmy, pulling out her spiked flail, or whatever the Hell weapon she fought with.

Where she kept it….. well, that would forever remain a mystery. Unless I plan to elaborate for four pages upon the origin of the weapon. I mean, I could. I put a _lot_ of thought into these characters, you know.

Okay, that's a lie.

"Science!" 'Greg' shouted, lunging into the fray after her, booting Manly square in the chest.

However, his target didn't budge, didn't even flinch from the hit, just grinned back benignly, while 'Greg' stared in shock, unable to believe what he was seeing.

At least until the pain finally registered. The searing ache shot through his nerves, and he let out an exaggerated, womanly squeal of pain, realizing that his foot was absolutely _splintered_ against Manly's chest, toes twisted at all sorts of abstract angles, snapped bones pushing through the skin. His ankle was, upon closer inspection, now little more than a lump of pulverized bone shards.

Oh Jesus, what kind of inhuman…..

He'd never experienced something like _this_. That kick was unstoppable. He'd slaughtered scores of children and the elderly with that tactic. But he'd just annihilated his stompin' foot, and that was using as much power as he could muster. There'd been a fancy crackly aura around his leg and everything. Like, in the shape of a dragon, or lunging wolf or some shit. And his super ultimate attack hadn't even left a singe-mark on the possibly-pleather outfit of Manly. That attack _never_ failed. It always hit its mark, always defeated them handily. But how could this mysterious enemy simply shrug it off?!

"GRAAAAAAAAAH!" He shrieked, embarrassing himself further in the process.

Dude, you played your 'all caps shout' card already. It just makes you look retarded. Just let out a howl of utter, unbearable agony next time, we get the gist. Oh God, and please don't shriek.

Seemingly amused by his horrified paroxysms of pain, Manly smirked and grabbed him by the lapels of his duster, hefting him up into the air and hurling him towards the flaming remains of the table in the center of the room. He hit the mark, but because of his enemy's superhuman strength, he slammed through the flaming debris and kept skidding, crashing through the heavy wood of the bar, and through the back wall as well. He didn't stop until about four walls later, when his head collided with something hard, accompanied by the sound of shattering tile.

Dazedly, he pushed himself up, taking stock of his injuries best as his muddled mind could. Cold water was arcing through the air, raining down directly in his face, and he sputtered and coughed frantically before managing to turn his head away from the freezing spray to take a breath, his whole body wracked with pain. Nothing could help him now. Not Tifa, not his super-duper ultimate attack, not the funky beats of Thomas Dolby, who had really no reason to even be mentioned here. Yeah, sure, if you want to mention a musician that a character listens to, people are apt to use one of their real-life favorite musicians. I mean, Yuffie's cool, right? You listen to... let's say Green Day. I suppose _they're_ cool. And since you're the author, you _undoubtedly_ have to be cool, yeah? So cool that someone like Yuffie would want to emulate you? That she, like you, in you _infinite coolness_ would listen to Green Day?

Yeah. That's what I thought.

_Nobody_ listens to Thomas Dolby.

Face it 'Greg'. You're fucked man.

Seriously what kind of character was this? Knocked him through several walls with a mere toss. Oh God…..

Oh God, were they being upstaged?

Usurped?

Killed off?

_Written out_?

Maybe they were no longer unstoppable enough, now that there were canon nigh-unstoppable badasses.

He could vaguely hear the slow plodding footsteps of Manly coming closer. He was certainly taking his time. He had to get up. Get up and fight, regardless of the fact that the bones in his left leg were shattered into a fine paste.

Then again, it's not like a lot of people (or the guys that made Advent Children) try to keep some semblance of realism in the physics of their fight scenes. This sort of thing would most likely permanently disable you, or outright kill you.

For God's sake, he just went skidding headfirst through a bunch of hard obstructions. His head should be crushed open like an over-ripe Halloween pumpkin. He shouldn't be dazed and being all 'Oh my God! He's going to kill me!'

Aah, fuck it. It seems more badass, so that's what we're going with. Besides, Tifa is not Spiderman, and yet she was zipping around all over the place and sticking to walls, after shrugging off being slammed into a church pew _hard enough to break it_.

Looks like physics doesn't really apply to you guys.

Carry on. Be all badass and dramatic.

"Don't tell me you're getting stomped on already?"

He looked up from his sprawled position on the cool linoleum floor, finding Tifa in the room with him, the martial artist seated primly on the toilet, peering at him over the top of a magazine. He was transfixed, almost unable to look away. It was Tifa, sitting there….. on the can. He should look away. _Had_ to look away.

Oh curse the day he was made to be obsessed with her!

She shook her head lightly, and thumbed to the next page, waving him off, seemingly unfazed by his blatant staring.

"If you _really_ need my help, I'll be out of here in a few minutes. And 'Greg'?"

"Yes?" He coughed weakly, voice, and a certain part of his anatomy strained. Seeing her like that, pants down around her knees, magazine teasingly hiding anything indecent from his gaze, he forgot about the fight, forgot about his impending doom for one sweet, sweet second.

Oh, Jesus, you're disgusting, you know that?

"Do you even know their names?"

He had no time to respond to her smirking inquiry, as a hand suddenly latched onto his obliterated foot, pulling him back toward the bar fight, where, presumably, 'Jim-Jam' was holding her own against Femmy. Well, he presumed anyway, as he had yet to see her get knocked through a bunch of walls and hit the bathtub skull-first with enough force to shatter it.

But then again, if there was somebody with long, silky smooth hair, either hanging around with, or fighting a bald person, who was preferred almost unanimously by people that likes to type things like 'Squee!' and 'OMG!'?

Yeah, 'Jim-Jam', you're fucked honey. Why do you think Reno gets way more face time, and action, and just flat-out fan-points than Rude?

Because people think his crazy mullet is _sexy_.

Your black and pink stubble just can't measure up against 100 authentic silver hair.

Tifa's question made no sense. Oh God, it was one of those cryptic hints, wasn't it? He'd probably have to jumble the letters of their names together and put it in as a password to access super-classified documents about whatever Shinra project had developed them to get another cryptic hint from those files. And he'd probably need somebody's blood, or a rare materia, or some kind of ancient artifact, like a Dagger of Aulberon or some goofy shit like that to destroy them. And even then he'd need to lure them to an exact location at an exact time on an exact date in order to defeat them in one of those kinds of battles where it was drawn out in a way that he was getting his ass kicked right up until the very end, when he would manage to get in one, desperate blow that would give him the victory.

Well, fuck it. He wasn't some kind of super detective. He should just go-go Gadget get the fuck out of here. Not only was he getting his ass kicked, and dragged away from the closest chance he had at seeing Tifa naked, but he couldn't even pre-emptively jump from this genre. Whatever the fuck kind of genre this was supposed to be.

"Let me go, you ass! Do you know how long I've tried to get a look of her naked? That was probably the closest I was ever going to get!" He shouted at Manly, who paused, looking down at him, eyebrow raised questioningly.

"You're….. not one of brothers friends, are you?" He asked slowly, in a voice that seemed to indicate mild mental retardation. Guy was probably taking super-powered blows to the head left and right. No surprise if he wasn't really all there.

And that, kids, is why you always block hits with your body. That way, you get sexy, mysterious scars, as opposed to unsexy, mysterious debilitating head trauma.

Wait a sec, maybe this guy wasn't so cool after all…..

"I'm a super-humanly strong martial artist with an obsession for Tifa!" He shouted, rearing up and taking a swing at Manly, who, as 'Greg' had predicted, decided to block it with his skull.

"Some might say I am too! And I'm an avatar of Sephiroth to boot!" Manly retorted, balling his hand into a fist, scowling down at him as his weapon began to crackle with electricity. 'Greg' just gaped at him, unable to comprehend what he was hearing.

The guy….. was almost identical to him. Aside from being a total re-re that is.

Mysterious past, popped up out of fucking nowhere when everything was going pretty well for the heroes, while Cloud was being all depressed, and Tifa was all 'Oh Cloud, I want to love you, ooh, baby!'. Beat on members of AVALANCHE and the Turks, and came off as downright unstoppable, and nigh impossible to kill off. Only to die just in time for a happy ending.

"Usurper!" He shouted, rearing up, forgetting the fact that his left ankle was smashed five ways to the next continuation of this plot, and once again booted him, aiming just a little higher, going for his jaw. A second time, Manly blocked with his skull, and once the awesome, crackly aura of his attack died down, he saw that this time, it had succeeded, and Manly was down for the count about five walls and a smashed bar counter away from him.

If all else went according to plan now, he'd have that fucking Dagger of Aulberon in no time, and…..

A loud shriek brought him out of his elated scheming, and he made his way back into the barroom, figuring that maybe 'Jim-Jam' needed a hand taking care of Femmy. His 'not quite a mullet yet not quite not a mullet' might be able to give him enough of a efenst against the long sleek silver locks.

However, as he sprinted back (on his completely destroyed foot to boot) he came across the sight of 'Jim-Jam' standing there, spiked flail jammed into her chest, but seemingly oblivious to it, smirking broadly as she fisted a large clump of Femmy's hair, as he continued to shriek and squeal like a woman.

"Not so tough now, huh?" She crowed, reaching up and ripping the flail free from where the spikes had imbedded deeply against her breasts, causing blood to spurt from the numerous puncture wounds, raining down upon Femmy's luxurious, downy silver locks.

"What happened?" 'Greg' asked, watching with a sordid kind of glee as Femmy began to sob as his perfect hair was sullied. 'Jim-Jam' glanced over her shoulder at him, shrugging slightly.

"This guy was kicking my ass. My flail bounced right off of him, and I couldn't land a hit or anything. But then I deus ex machina-ed to the realization that he always moved out of the way if you came too close to his hair, and then I got him. Ha! Look at him cry!"

"Loz, help me!" Femmy whined tearfully, prying unsuccessfully at 'Jim-Jam''s grip, the ends of his beloved hair frazzled and singed. She had no flint, no tinder, yet she had managed to burn off a good couple of inches of his hair, the bitch.

Oh shit girl, here come the fangirls. You'd better fuckin' book it.

"I can't! They're even more powerful than brother, Yazoo!" Manly replied weakly. "How could they have deus ex machina-ed our weaknesses? None of brother's friends managed to do that!"

Pausing in their haughty, victorious gloating over having discovered their opponents' designated 'mandatory weak point', 'Greg' and 'Jim-Jam' locked eyes, as if what the brothers had said destroyed their good humor.

"Laws? Kazoo?" 'Jim-Jam' attempted uncertainly, leaning in a little closer to Femmy, twisting her grip in his hair a tad more, blinking at him expectantly.

"It's _Loz_ and _Yazoo_….." Yazoo whimpered a little, tears beading at the corners of his eyes.

'Jim-Jam' found tears stinging her eyes too at hearing him slowly enunciate the names for her.

Tears of laughter.

"You fucking _losers_!" She crowed, doubling over as she laughed, like their names were the epitome of utter fuckin' hilarity. "Those are some of the saddest 'These names are complicated and when you read them they seem awkward or impossible to pronounce, and nobody in a million years would actually _have_ that name' names I have ever heard!"

'Greg' was laughing along with her, jeering and mocking, watching the two Sephiroth brothers shrink in on themselves more and more desperately trying to cover their ears.

"Our names are _not_ stupid!" Loz protested weakly, cut off as 'Jim-Jam' and 'Greg' only laughed harder and harder.

"I mean, I mean, at least _we_ have an excuse! We needed 'unique' names to stand out in somebody's paltry attempts at writing. They want people to think we're cool, and look past the lack of original concept. You guys are supposed to be actual, factual bad guys! How the _fuck_ did you end up with such _retarded_ names?! They pick 'em out of a bowl of Alpha-Bits? Smash their hand down on the keyboard nd just run with it?"

They probably could have continued their gleeful menacing of the brothers all night, since, after all, they had asserted their dominance. They'd easily taken out _canon_ _villains_ that had given the _canon_ _heroes_ a run for their money. And it had been damn near flawless, aside from a wrecked up ankle and a spiked flail to the chest, which weren't even slowing them down anymore.

Even Cloud had struggled to defeat them. _Cloud_! The number one protagonist of Final Fantasy VII!

Oh shit son, Tifa need not worry as long as 'Greg' and 'Jim-Jam' were still in tip-top form. Perhaps even tipper-topper form. And everybody get down and shower me with praise, because they're cool, stylish, and oh so original and you all _wish_ _you could write such cool characters as I do_!

Riiiiiiiiiiiiight.

However, there was one thing that 'Jim-Jam' and 'Greg' couldn't help Tifa defend against…..

"Guys?" Tifa called to them through the devastation, coughing lightly, her boots creaking precariously across the smashed up floorboards. "I think we have a problem….."

"What up? Cloud struggling to come to terms with how he feels for you?" 'Jim-Jam' called back to her, chuckling a little, though it dissolved into a croak of shock as she caught a look at the martial artist.

'Greg' saw her and let out a shout of horror, turning his face away, lest he start melting like one of those Nazis that looked into the Ark of the Covenant.

Tifa had her vest unzipped, white top distended over her stomach, which had amazingly swollen within the past few minutes from when she had been seen in the bathroom.

"Holy shit!" 'Greg' gritted out, refusing to look. "Don't tell me we're in a crossover with Aliens! Of all the people, I can't believe the Facehuggers got you!"

Our long-suffering protagonist heaved a great sigh, letting her shoulders drop, shaking her head tiredly.

"No. While you two were busy roughhousing, we ended up in a story. I mean, like, as soon as I got off the can. Barely had time to flush."

"You have clichés where you end up with a beer gut?!" 'Jim-Jam' asked weakly. "Well, I mean, if you sit around chugging Lagers all day, I suppose that might not be far off. And I also have to say-"

"No!" Tifa gritted out, hands balling into fists, annoyed by her sidekicks' inability to comprehend what the Hell had happened to her. "I'm….

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

………

……………………………………… ……………… ………………..

Hold on, just a few more to build up even more dramatic tension. Or I might just make it a cliff hanger, despite how obvious the answer is.

………………………

…….

.. ………………..

Okay, that should about do it. Are you guys totally chomping at the bit to find out what it is? Because, I know I'm totally the master of suspenseful writing.

"Pregnant." She finished finally, one hand to her face in shame.

"Holy shit, you mean you _can_ get pregnant from a toilet seat?" 'Jim-Jam' asked in awe, more surprised by the concept of it, than the actual revelation.

"Well, as long as you aren't going to end up with a chestburster popping out going all 'Ree! Chss! Reeeeeeeee!' at us, it's cool. You….. aren't going to, right?" 'Greg' hesitated slightly, casting a quick glance at her stomach from behind his fingers, as if terrified Tifa would start siezing and spitting blood any second.

"No. Besides, people didn't look fat if they had a chestburster in them."

"Well, alright then."

"No, not, 'alright then'! We've got to do something about this!" She shouted, scowling.

"Psh." 'Greg' replied, waving it off, still not looking at her. "_We_ don't have to do anything. I ain't your baby daddy."

"Hey!" Tifa snarled back at him, eyes narrowing "You think I have any control over this sort of thing?! The way this gets written, I'm all preggo, and then it's all 'oh shit! Drama! How is the baby daddy gonna react _if_ I tell them?!'. It's ridiculous."

"I'm sorry….. if?" 'Jim-Jam' repeated, not exactly comprehending it. "Wouldn't the guy you're with _know_ by now?"

Tifa let out a bitter little laugh, shaking her head.

"It's...retardedly complicated. Let's just work on getting rid of this... _thing_ for right now."

"Like, now, now? This chapter's a little long in the tooth as it is."

"Okay, fine. Next chapter then. But so help me, if the next chapter jumps ahead to a point where I've popped this fucking parasite out, you'll all wish it _was_ a chestburster!" She warned lowly.

On the ground, Loz and Yazoo exchanged confused looks, wondering what they had done to deserve this. _How_ they had even ended up here in the first place.

It wasn't looking good. An ass whupping by two lame OCs, and a spontaneous pregnancy for the titular character.

Really, they came back from the dead for _this_?


End file.
